


Holding on to You

by kenwayboots



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Depression, M/M, Mechanic!Bucky, Misunderstandings, PTSD, Some angst?, Suicide Attempt, Veteran!Bucky, ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwayboots/pseuds/kenwayboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After another night. Another panic attack. Another cold shower. Another moldy breakfast. Another morning of riding a rusty bike to the shop. Bucky found himself standing face-to-face with his angry boss, the most pissed off he’s seen him this far, being admonished harshly for having the nerve to show up an entire half hour late, how this is the last time before he’s fired. Of course. For whatever reason, Bucky couldn’t find it in him to care more than faking worry and a promise that he won’t do it again.</p><p>But, of course; like usual,  it didn’t even matter that he showed up late anyways, there were no customers. Just another day of sitting around in a poorly air-conditioned building, willing the time to fly faster so he can go home and try (pointlessly) to get real sleep and pretend he had the life he’d been hoping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Okay I'm going to apologize in advance: I don't know how to write disorders/disabilities well and I'm a horrible person so I was too lazy to research anything. SO. I'm really sorry if I wrote it wrong, I'm a lazy ass. And if there's any grammar problems I blame my friend for being the beta reader.
> 
> Other than that, even though it's the longest fic i've wrote yet, I know there's a million mistakes and it's not the best? But just in case its bad enough to warrant hate comments, just please dont. Oh, and I shamelessly stole the title from Twenty One Pilots. Whoops!
> 
> Anyways thank you for reading and hopefully you'll enjoy it! c: )

You know how post-military life rarely treats anyone well? For some unknown reason, Bucky thought it would be different for him. Not at all. Big fucking surprise. Well that is, unless you count living as a mechanic who was lucky to even get a job and lives off of practically nothing in quite possibly the worst apartment building in New York as life treating you lucky.

 

For whatever reason, Bucky had imagined himself in suburbia, in a comfy little house and, hell, even an office job would suit better than this. He had imagined a life where he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night screaming, in a cold sweat. Where he didn’t live in a dump. Where he could afford a goddamn haircut. Oh, and if living like this wasn’t already hell, the fact that he only has one arm certainly puts the icing on the cake. But hey, as he was informed often, it’s better than living life on the streets.

 

(He didn’t think so.)

 

\--

 

After another night. Another panic attack. Another cold shower. Another moldy breakfast. Another morning of riding a rusty bike to the shop. Bucky found himself standing face-to-face with his angry boss, the most pissed off he’s seen him this far, being admonished harshly for having the nerve to show up an entire half hour late, how this is the last time before he’s fired. Of course. For whatever reason, Bucky couldn’t find it in him to care more than faking worry and a promise that he won’t do it again.

 

But, _of course_ ; like usual,  it didn’t even matter that he showed up late anyways, there were no customers. Just another day of sitting around in a poorly air-conditioned building, willing the time to fly faster so he can go home and try (pointlessly) to get real sleep and pretend he had the life he’d been hoping for.

 

Surprisingly enough, one customer showed up while Bucky was napping. It wasn’t until he felt a polite tapping at his shoulder that he woke up, nearly falling out of the rusty chair and just barely keeping his balance. The only thing that stopped him from barking out a rude retort; however, was the sheer beauty of the man in front of him, and the instant panic from the gut feeling that he knew this guy from somewhere. Shit.

 

He held up his finger, signalling a silent ‘wait a minute’ and stepped outside to catch his breath and steady himself. After an agonizingly, embarrassing five minutes of trying to calm himself down, he slunk back inside to talk to the man who seemed to be adorably worried about him.

 

“You oka-”, the man started

 

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘M fine. Happens a lot.” Bucky cut him off. He didn’t need pity, not really.

 

The worry didn’t leave the man’s eyes, but he didn’t push Bucky, “Okay- well. Um. Anyways, I’m Steve Rogers- I know I didn’t call ahead, but I was wondering if I could get some work done on this old car- a Power Wagon, I think- that I’ve had sitting around for ages?”

 

“Yeah, that should be fine,” Bucky mumbled, his body turned just in case this guy- Steve- recognized him before he could remember where the hell he knows Steve from, “Just drive it over there,” loosely gesturing with his real arm to one of the open areas in the garage, “and just, uh, tell me where it needs work. Should be quick.” As he finished he turned back to Steve; momentarily, looking up into his eyes, the most beautiful shade of blue Bucky could imagine.

 

Steve simply nodded, heading to go drive the car in. Taking a look at Steve in his car, Bucky couldn’t help but to realize that this man gave off a sense of just- America? He couldn’t describe it but whatever it was, it made Steve look like the very definition of old fashioned patriotism. Weird. Mentally shrugging these thoughts off; he made his way over to the car as Steve got out.

 

“Alright, not an expert on cars here, but my friend mentioned repainting on the hood, uh, some work on the tires and I’m pretty sure he said there was something wrong with the headlights too? I don’t know, I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out?”

 

“Yeah. I think you’ll have to leave it overnight, though. Painting and the headlights are gonna take a while.” Honestly, most days he’d hate having to work up until the end of his work day and well into the next, but something about Steve made him less bothered about working. He looked over briefly at him, catching Steve staring at him, blushing, and looking away, flustered, before clearing his throat.

 

“Alright- I can just leave it here, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Cool, what time should I head back over ?”

 

“Uh- probably around noon. Just so the paint can dry and stuff.”

 

“Alright. I’ll be back tomorrow--”, he emphasized, Bucky realizing he was asking for a name.

 

“James.”

 

“Okay, see ‘ya tomorrow, then, James.” he called out on his way outside.

 

Somehow, Bucky couldn’t figure out how, meeting Steve had made his day better, even including the fact that he’d have to work his ass off on this car. Even including the fact that they hadn’t even had an actual conversation- just business talk. Somehow, he knew Steve was the start of, as stupid as he felt for thinking this, a better part of his life.

  
(He wasn’t wrong.)


	2. Chapter 2

After work, he seemed to catch himself constantly thinking about Steve, how he couldn’t believe that it took him until then to realize just how attractive Steve was. How much he loved this stranger’s voice. But then again- the feeling that had been eating at him all day- was Steve even really a stranger? Sure, he’d shown no signs of recognizing Bucky, but Bucky had certainly recognized him. But from where?

 

As he laid down to sleep, he realized it didn’t matter- as long as Steve didn’t recognize him. His mild amnesia from his time with the military could easily make conversation awkward. His mind drifted off lazily as he fell asleep, imagining getting to know Steve. Wondering, tiredly, why he’s so obsessed with a goddamn stranger!

 

\--

 

The next morning, he woke up peacefully, sitting up on his elbows to read the clock, startling fully awake when he realized he’d actually slept through the night without waking up with a panic attack. That hadn’t happened since before he’d left! It felt strange having enough sleep- hell, it felt great. He felt almost like his old self, from before life took a shit on him.

 

He got himself up, and sure, the shower was still cold after less than a second, but there was no way he was going to let that impact his mood. Hell, he even took the time and effort to actually use the little shampoo and body wash he had, cleaning himself up. Since he was already putting effort into his appearance for once, he decided to shave and tie his hair out of his face. Looking at himself in the mirror, he truly felt like his old self (well, of course, plus the extra hair, and the prosthetic arm). It was so uplifting, he could cry if he wanted to.

 

Of course no amount of happiness could improve the taste of the moldy, disgusting food he lived off of; or the bumpy, painful ride to work on the piece of trash he called a bike, but he was used to it. Arriving at the shop, he was surprised to be greeted with his boss in a much better mood, apologizing for lashing out at him the other day. His boss never apologized.

 

If this was a dream, he’d rather be tortured to death then wake up from it.

 

\---

 

Before he knew it, it was noon, and his day got better the moment he looked up from a stray magazine into stunning blue eyes from across the garage. He smiled and waved in greeting as Steve headed over to him, smiling back with a smile that could make the sun jealous with how much it brightened Bucky’s day.

 

Then the illusion shattered. He could tell something was up the moment that dazzling smile was replaced with a look of confusion, concentration, and then realization. Bucky could’ve kicked himself for forgetting he was supposed to be hiding his appearance. He started standing up in his chair, and the moment Steve opened his mouth to say something, he got the fuck out of there, running as if his life depended on it. The last thing he needed was someone who knew him before his life went to hell.

 

All he heard was “Wait… Bucky? Bucky?!”

 

Steve had known him. Of course he knew him.

 

But it was just Bucky’s luck that Steve took off after him like a goddamned marathon runner. This was going down the drain. Fast. Bucky willed his pathetic legs to carry him faster, his lungs burning as he darted around corners, and when he felt like he’d lost Steve, he collapsed next to a dumpster, trying to control his breathing before this could evolve into a full blown panic attack. Then started shaking uncontrollably, he’d realized he’d failed to hold it back.

 

\---

 

It wasn’t until his brain was functioning like normal again that he realized he wasn’t behind the dumpster anymore. He was on a bench. With Steve’s strong hand rubbing up and down his back, telling him to breathe, trying to relax him.

“Hey. Hey, Bucky, you with me here?”

 

“W-who the hell is Bucky?” he hadn’t had anyone call him that in so long. Maybe playing dumb could help him pretend Steve didn’t actually know him. He did not need this.

 

“Shh. C’mon Buck, you know me. Remember, high school? College?” his voice was so full of hurt. Aw hell, Bucky felt horrible. But.. He didn’t- He couldn’t-

 

He stiffened up, pulling out of Steve’s comfort, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

 

“Bucky-”

 

“Stop that! I’m James! Okay?” He glared into those eyes he’d been obsessing over only the day, the night before. Suddenly it came back to him- hushed whispers, promises- sweat and stench- an insistent press of lips- Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. No. He looked up into those eyes again, now full of so much hurt. He couldn’t.

 

He took off running again, back to the shop, home, hell- anywhere where those eyes full of hurt couldn’t pull him back into his memories. He didn’t care if he was fired. He couldn’t face this. He couldn’t face Steve.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

That night, he got no sleep, and his sheets were soaked through with sweat. He felt hopeless, restless, and honestly tired of living like this, especially since he’d had a taste of happiness, only to be crushed by panic and pain. Looking down at his real arm, the only thought he can think is that he deserves the scrapes from sliding across the sidewalk, running away from Steve and those eyes-

He curled up. This wasn’t okay. He was _remembering_. He wasn’t supposed to remember- he was supposed to live in ignorant bliss and pretend the army- the accident- never happened. It’s all shattered. So hopelessly shattered. He felt panic well up inside him- he needed to get the hell out of here. Slamming the weak wooden door open and closed behind him, he ran outside, trying to control his breathing- One. Two. Three.

One- Two- Thre-

But of course someone dropped something metal. And of course it just had to be near enough to the sound of a gun. He dropped, pressing himself to the ground behind a bench, his eyes wild, his breathing out of control. From an outsider’s view, he looked perhaps enough like a threatened, out-of-his-mind hobo (which wasn’t all that far from the truth) to be taunted.

“Hey! Hey- yeah you- what the fuck’re ya doi-”

The stranger didn’t have a chance to finish their sentence before they were pinned to the wall behind them by their neck by a wild-eyed Bucky. It wasn’t until his brain somewhere along the way processed that he was about to kill a teenager if he didn’t stop, and shakily, he dropped the kid, who slumped against the wall, gasping in air, an animalistic look in his eyes before he ran off, looking for somewhere quieter than this, somewhere with less people. But, this is New York, there’s no such thing as quiet.

A half hour later finds Bucky curled up against a wall at one in the morning, wishing he could die. That something could end this shitty life he wound up with. The only break he found was when a rude passerby didn’t like the way he looked at them, and they knocked him unconscious.

Four hours later, Bucky comes to, his head aching like hell, and finding himself wanting to die even more desperately, his hair in his face, sobbing uncontrollably, weakly hitting his head against the smooth wall of the building in hopes to find unconsciousness before he can do something he’d regret.

But of course, nothing worked out in his favor. The rude glares of people passing by made him feel so much worse. That was it. If that’s all he was seen as- a pathetic shell of him old self- he didn’t want to live like this. His legs shaking, he used the wall to push himself up, and started walking towards where he knew the road would be most open, where he knew the cars would be zooming by the fastest. What he didn’t note was the jogging trail along the road, why would he? It’s not like he was going to care in a few minutes.

Watching the road, he stood there, waiting until he saw the car. He willed his feet, took the first step, then the next, his eyes squeezed shut and ready to embrace death, knowing the car’s approaching closer and closer but-

It never came. What he did feel was a sharp tug backwards, a sweaty hug, and a worried, soothing voice above him. He knew where he was. But this time? This time he needed Steve. Embraced him. This is where Bucky broke down into tears.

\---

They sat like that for a while. Neither cared about the people passing by, yelling and glaring, or that the sky was growing brighter and brighter. Eventually Bucky looked up with red eyes, and Steve got the hint. They both stood up, and found a real place to sit together. They remained in silence, and Bucky was grateful.

If he talked he’d come apart at the seams again, he needs to try to remember Steve without interruption, remember what he could. Not everything came, but he remembered at least high school, the scrawny thing Steve used to be. He remembered protecting him, and the stubborn insisting he didn’t need any. Of course he couldn’t remember everything, that didn’t matter, he knew he, at one point, had loved Steve.

And he knew for certain he’d definitely love him again.

\---

By seven, they’d sat in each other’s arms for two hours now, in nothing but silence. Eventually Bucky looked over at Steve, who had had his hand on the crappy prosthetic for a few minutes, regarding it sadly, but with a certain fondness in his eyes that made Bucky’s heart ache.

He didn’t know why- Hell it’s not even his fault that his memory went away- but he feels like the worst person in the world to not remember everything, to cause that sort of sorrow he’d seen both yesterday and today. Someone so perfect should never have to feel that kind of pain. And he’d caused it.

After a few minutes of watching Steve; Steve looked up, and they just stared into each other’s eyes for a bit. Eventually, Steve reached out and pushed a strand of hair out of Bucky’s face, and just the small gesture warmed his heart.

But of course it was nearing 7:30, and Bucky couldn’t be late to work. At least Steve would have to come with him anyways, to get his car. He gently stood up, offering his hand to Steve, who stood up, taking it. They walked in silence, holding hands.

They made it to the shop, Steve looked into his eyes and tilted his head a little, almost as a silent question; ‘Later?’. Bucky nodded ever so slightly, lighting Steve’s eyes up. Bucky pulled Steve down to kiss his cheek, triggering one of those blinding smiles from Steve, before they parted. Steve going to give money to Bucky’s boss for the car, and Bucky sitting in his usual spot.

As Steve walked to his car, they didn’t even need to wave goodbye, no words were needed to communicate everything Bucky was feeling. Something had changed, and hey, it was already known that Steve would mean good things for Bucky. (It wasn’t wrong, was it?)


	4. Chapter 4

After that- release, draining?- of all of his negative emotions towards his amnesia and his past, Bucky felt free. He, of course, went back to his bland, depressing life, but now Steve was in it; which made things so much better. They were getting to know each other all over again, and although Bucky had changed, something in him made him certain that Steve had changed very little aside from not being a skinny little punk anymore.

 

And nothing could change how caring Steve had been. The entire week after he’d warmed up to Steve, to his past, Steve had been so understanding. Sure, he’d likely never remember everything about his past with Steve, but just being around him was bringing back bits here and there of his memories, and honestly that was enough for him.

 

Although, as much as he’d been warming up to Steve again, he didn’t think he could stand telling or even letting Steve see his living conditions. He didn’t need nor want pity. Especially not from Steve, who had known him at his best- he doesn’t need to witness him at his worst. He couldn’t.

 

Nonetheless, he’d been trying to improve his life in tiny ways just in case Steve finds out- accepting free food wherever it has offered, putting aside money here and there to buy better food, and pretty much everything else he couldn’t find for free in sample sizes. It wasn’t much, but it was better than before, just slightly.

 

Honestly he wished he could move. He'd been putting aside money for that for a while up until he realized that no matter how much money he saved, he'd still end up in a shitty apartment anyways- so he stopped. In the end he'd decided to put up with what he's got.

 

But... As much as he wished he ended up with something else, he also realized that without this lifestyle, he wouldn't have found Steve again, and he would've continued running from his past. He would've ended up dead in some street, probably. Yeah.. In a weird way this was better. He supposed.

 

\---

 

A month later at the same shitty car repair shop he’d been working at for way too long, Bucky looked over a truck, searching for what the problem with it was supposed to be. After a few moments of scrutinizing the bottom of the truck, he'd bent down to start working on it. What he didn't notice was Steve walking in and watching him from a distance about a half hour after he’d started. It could say a lot about how close they’d re-grown over the month by the fact that Bucky could see clear as day that Steve had been staring at his ass, and when he offered a raised eyebrow at Steve, all he got from him was a sly smile (which he couldn’t resist returning, of course).

 

One could almost say they were dating- nothing had been officially determined, yet, but Bucky was pretty damn sure cuddling, kissing, and mutual-staring-at-each others-asses wasn’t something most friends would be comfortable with. They just hadn’t had the conversation yet.

 

Bucky pulled himself out from the truck, standing up and going over to Steve to pull him into a hug, noticing that Steve was holding a bag.

 

Steve held the bag up, “Hungry?”

 

“Mm. Hell yeah, ‘ts not my lunch break yet though,”

 

“Good point, but didn’t you say you were gonna quit soon? This job makes ya miserable, Buck, we both know it.” Man- nothing could ever melt Bucky’s heart more than Steve’s concern and care for him.

 

“Yeah- but- well, I don’t exactly have a backup right now, I kinda need to pay rent… and food, food is important too-”

 

“Then why don’t you move in with me?”

 

“an- What?! Stevie- no, I can’t- you’re not much better off than I am-”

 

“Bucky.”

 

“I can’t- Steve- c’mon I don’t wanna be a burden.”

 

“Bucky. Listen, we can share rent, it won’t be much different from before you left-” Steve froze at the look that flashed in Bucky’s eyes, goddamnit he should’ve known better than to bring that up-

 

Why did Steve have to bring that up- Bucky couldn’t- he sighed, shook his head once and looked up slightly at Steve, his voice wavering as he spoke again.

 

“No- Steve, you listen. I already hurt you when I left you behind, and- just- if anything I still owe you. I can’t make matters worse by being this pathetic burden in your life- who wakes up screaming and can’t even remember his own fucking name sometimes. Okay? End of discussion.”

 

“But Bu-”

 

“Don’t. Just-” by now Bucky was clenching and unclenching his real hand trying to settle his emotions. If he ran out of work now, today, he’d be fired for sure- but on the other hand Steve’d always been a stubborn ass and Bucky knew that he’d try to push this conversation.

 

He backed up, starting to walk away, but when he saw Steve trying to reach out to comfort him, he decided- Fuck it. Fuck it all. Nope- and ran for the last time out of the garage. Who would give a damn if he ended up in the streets, he didn’t need pity, didn’t want to be treated like a charity case, and his apartment? It was so small, so run down and so un-insulated, he practically lived in the streets anyways.

 

Nobody should care- except Steve of course- but… No. As much as he’d figured out that he loved Steve again, love or no love involved, whatever the hell they were- he didn’t want sympathy. He could handle his own fucking self.

 

Except-

 

He felt the panic rushing up again- Fuck- last time this happened-... But- this time Steve wouldn’t be there to grab him. He couldn’t. No- Maybe he couldn’t handle himself. Not all the time- but-

 

Before his clouded mind could continue bringing him into a pure state of panic, he ran face first into a passerby, a stranger- but no- not a stranger? Shit. He backed up, apologizing profusely to the- redhead?- Shit. He knows her, but at the same time he doesn’t. But before he can get a single word out, her eyebrows furrow in recognition- “James??”

 

That voice- wait- wait. Wait. “I- I. uh.”

 

“James! It is you!” She pulled him into a tight hug out of nowhere. Something in him told him that he should feel surprise- that this isn’t like her-- the name’s right there but… He..

 

“Natasha?”

 

She pulled back to look into his eyes, something assured him he was correct.

“Where the hell have you been.”

 

“Uh. In a shitty apartment?” He tries.

 

“Ha. Ha. Seriously, though, have you been okay? You look like shit.” There it is, the same look of worry Steve wore, only different at the same time.

 

“Well. Uh. No offense but your name’s about all I remember.” He shifts his fake arm a little, to make it evident that he’s clearly a veteran here “Amnesia n’ shit.”

 

She looks shocked. Again, he feels that her concern should surprise him somehow. “Really? I saw you just a few years ago, you were fine-”

 

A few years ago.. he was still away. Of course.

“Uh. That was before. Stuff.”

 

“Wow. Well, let’s go get caught up then, coffee, I’m assuming you aren’t busy right now?”

 

“Actually- No.”

 

“Good. Coffee.”

 

And off he was dragged, into more of his past, into more of what he’d been running away from for so, so long.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that day, Bucky found himself sitting on a bench in a park with Natasha, learning everything she knew about him from before he got mentally fucked up. the start of the talk, he’d been willing her voice out of his head, shutting down and refusing to listen, but she’d carefully coaxed him into opening up about it.

 

And here they were, her telling him funny stories from a past he had no personal memory of. Hell, he even found himself letting out a laugh or two at some of the tales of who he used to be. In the end, he found himself warming up to his past, and remembering Natasha and her own antics that she was clearly avoiding in her stories.

 

He found himself happy again. Sure, he knew the illusion would shatter again eventually, but knowing that he even _could_ warm up to his past made him so happy. Although, again, nothing could fix the shit he’d been through, he still felt good that he could begin on the road to acknowledging his past without setting off a panic attack.

 

They talked on, though, until the sun set and Natasha had stopped mid-sentence to point out the obvious, “It’s getting dark.”

 

“Really, I wouldn’t ‘a noticed.” he snarked back

 

“Yeah, yeah Sergeant Smartass, what I meant was that we’ve sat out here all day. You need to go home”

 

He groaned and rolled his eyes overdramatically before pushing himself up “Whatever’”

 

She smirked in response, shoving him lightly “Alright, I’m going to check up on you tomorrow and I better not catch your sorry ass moping around anymore, okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever”

 

She pulled him into another tight motherly hug like before, that he returned this time, before she walked off into the darkness, as did he.

 

(What neither of them noticed was the large, blonde, and very much so distraught man pacing around mumbling to himself, his face lit by a phone, who had looked up at the wrongest of times and let misunderstandings fly forth)

 

\--

 

Something snapped back, and the illusion of happiness, like before, was gone as quick as it came. The reality of his unofficial quitting of his job bore down on him, and he ended up sitting around in his pathetic excuse of an apartment for days, accepting his new lack of a job. Sure, Natasha did end up checking on him, but five minutes of fake happiness was just enough to send her on her way (As observant as she was, he’d grown amazing at faking emotions) and leave him alone until later.

 

A while away, outside his apartment, though, was different. While Nat came and went, the one who Bucky felt he needed most, to apologize to, to hold, to be around, was broken, pierced by assumptions.

 

\--

 

Bucky woke up drenched in cold water while glaring at the redhead standing above him

“Seriously?”

 

“Wakey-wakey, mopey! I’ve let you sulk around in this hellhole for a week. You need to get out more.”

 

“Ugh. Fuck you.”

 

“Glad to see you’re as cheerful as ever,”

 

He groaned and pulled himself off of his pathetic excuse of a bed, standing up and getting halfway through pulling off his shirt to change

“Can ya’ at least give a guy some privacy?”

 

“Me? Privacy? Ha-” she saw the look on his face, “Yeah, yeah fine. You’re too grumpy, James”

 

Making sure she left the closet of a room, he got ready, sulking out to her when he finished

“Okay, what’re ya going to drag me through today?”

 

“Eh. Just a walk, coffees, perhaps?”

 

He didn’t respond, just squinted- knowing her, even as little as he did in actuality, there had to be more than that if she was forcing him out of the house rather than just checking in on him. At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged and followed her out the door.

 

"So," she said casually as they walked, "Did you know you have stalker?"

 

He looked at her as if she'd grown another head.

 

"What-- don't look at me like that-- you do! He's tall and blonde, looks upset a lot. Know anyone like that or do I have to kill someone?"

 

"Oh. Yeah. I've been trying to avoid him though. I guess. Its complicated. Hell, I'd ignore you too if you didn't force me out of my house"

 

She looked over at him, not responding. Bucky knew, though, that she was going to pry later.

 

After walking in silence mixed with conversation, they reached a park and decided to take a break at a table. Bucky slumped into his seat, wishing he was back at his apartment.

 

Conveniently enough, Bucky's position didn't allow for him to see someone walking up to them, that is, until he heard Natasha talking to someone and a familiar voice- he sat up immediately, his spine snapping stiff. He dared a slight look over and sure enough, there Steve was. Shit. He could not handle this conversation right now.

 

He discreetly shifted on the bench, but Natasha- goddamn her- grabbed onto his jacket without even disrupting her conversation with Steve. Bucky, though, slid off his jacket and ran. Again. Only this time, it was Natasha going after him. He didn't get very far.

 

\--

 

Bucky sat there, half disappointed and half freaking the fuck out. He refused to talk. He just listened in on Natasha and Steve.

 

"So. Uh. How did you notice me earlier?" Steve shifted awkwardly

 

"I notice everything,"

 

They continued casually. Eventually, though, Natasha made the mistake of turning to face Steve, letting go of Bucky in the process. This time, neither noticed when he bolted back to his apartment until it was too late.

 

\--

 

He sat, curled up in his pathetic excuse of a closet that wouldn't be his anymore in a few weeks, wishing his past would just leave him alone. That he could leave what was forgotten that way. Sure, he knew, deep under his shell of problems, he still loved Steve as much as he apparently did before, and that he'd be okay with being with him again. But. Something in his head convinced him that he didn't deserve it. That once Steve realized how different Bucky is now, he’d hate his guts, he'd be a pathetic burden on Steve, just like he predicted.

 

He knew he should explain this to Steve but he couldn't. Steve wouldn't get it-

 

He heard a knocking at the door.

 

"Bucky?"

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Answering the door was a mistake. He'd been greeted with an emotionally conflicted Steve. He backed away, and Steve took it as a signal to come in. Shit.

 

"Okay- listen- I can't-"

 

"Can't what? Talk to me after running off every time I see you? Can't tell me that we were doing- well- whatever we were while you had a girlfriend? Can't what, Bucky?" Damn. How could someone look so mad and so hurt, so confused simultaneously, Bucky wondered to himself.

 

"Well it's not like I was the one who brought up my past last time we talked- and you can't just suggest moving in outta fucking nowhere- wait. Wait. You- you think Nat is my girlfriend?"

 

"Well, she is, isn't she?" All of Steve's anger and hurt vanished, replaced by confusion.

 

"Hell no, she's been pretty much my mom-slash- sister figure apparently, for forever.."

 

"But she- shit. Wow. Okay"

 

"Seriously though Steve, like I was saying, it's not okay to ask me to move in outta nowhere... You  don't understand, I'm not worth it, I'd  be too much of a burden on you- I don't have a job- I'm pretty sure I have PTSD- I'm overall worthless and-" he shut up the moment he realized Steve was just inches way, his words dying as he looked into those blue eyes.

 

He steadied himself, taking a small, hesitant step backwards before he took a breath to continue, his heart starting to beat fast- but this time not from anxiety. Before he could continue, however, Steve was back against him and he was pulled into a passionate kiss, hesitating only a second before returning it.

 

Pretty quickly he found the door pushed closed and himself pressed up against it, his real hand, after a minute or so, finding its way under Steve's shirt, wishing desperately he still had his other arm to feel Steve with.

 

He lost track of time as they pressed up against each other, lost track of how fast they lost their clothing, and when they’d actually taken this to the bedroom.

 

What he did know, as he woke up the next morning pleasantly sore with Steve waking up next to him, his face expressing what could possibly be the purest expression of love-, is that maybe, just maybe, he should let himself get better. That maybe pity couldn’t be so bad.

 

He snuggled back into Steve’s arms, letting himself welcome sleep again, the most content he’d been in some time, falling asleep with an ‘I love you’ quickly returned by the man he knew now he could handle being around forever.


	7. Epilogue

Five years later finds Bucky as complete contrast of who he had been before, he felt like a new man. He’d accepted pity, and it sure as hell had gotten him places. He no longer lived in his shack of an apartment, but in a cozy apartment with Steve, a few months away from marrying him. Things were great.

 

After he’d gotten over his problem with moving in with Steve, Steve had helped him so much- taken him to his friend, Sam, to deal with the PTSD and self confidence issues, and he’d gained a new friend out of it himself.

 

Once he was in a better mental state, he turned back into his old, confident self. He cleaned himself up, cut his hair, but his prosthetic was still a piece of cheap junk, not much more than two metal poles, a socket, and a clamp- that was until Sam, god bless him, had set him up with not just any job, no, but a position in fucking _Stark Industries_. He’d been overjoyed and hadn’t stopped thanking Sam for years now.

 

The best thing was, even though he worked in a mere branch of Stark Industries, Tony Stark himself had heard somewhere about his arm. A year later, he had such a high-tech model that the moment it moved without him having to force it into a fixed position, he’d cried, he was so happy.

 

Thanks to being introduced to laptops again, he’d also began taking online college courses as well, working towards improving his knowledge of robotics and mechanics, his new arm and job having sparked a real interest in the topics. He was well on his way to a degree.

 

Family wise, he’d managed to find out that, sadly enough, his parents had passed, and he visited them in the cemetery the day he’d found out (That’d been a bad day for him). But he’d also discovered that he’d had a sister, Rebecca, who he’d gone and contacted immediately.

  
And Steve? After moving in with him, they’d very quickly announced officially that they were dating. They went everywhere together and adopted a dog, Winter, who made them feel like a family. Steve’d proposed to him about three years after he’d gotten better, in a room full of old and new friends, and that’d been the day Bucky knew his happiness would never be an illusion again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yeah, yeah, I know a fic this short wasn't in need of an Epilogue but my friend/beta reader kinda forced me to do it so yep
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!!! :D)


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